A Twist in Time
by Paimpont
Summary: After Dumbledore's death, Harry finds a time-turner in his office. He knows that he must use it to go back in time to kill Tom Riddle, but this proves unexpectedly difficult... Rated M for SLASH in later chapters. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

Dumbledore's office looked just the same. The tall arched windows were open, and a sweet spring breeze wafted into the room and sent the delicate silver instruments spinning. Ancient leather-bound volumes lined the shelves, and stacks of yellowed parchment covered the large wooden desk. Harry looked curiously at one of the top ones; it appeared to be a recipe for something called Baked Alaska, with alchemical notations in the margin.

How absurd that the room was still here, unchanged, when Dumbledore himself was gone! How could the fragile paper on his desk outlast a human being? Even the hideous stone gargoyle that guarded the door had lasted longer than the greatest wizard of all time. How could that be?

The gargoyle had apparently developed a sense of the absurdity of the situation as well, for when Harry had tried to get past it, it had remained stonily silent and immovable as he rattled off all the passwords he could think of: Acid pops, lemon sherbet, cockroach clusters, raspberry jam - to no avail, until he had sighed in desperation: "Look, _I don't know_ what the password is anymore" - and the gargoyle had swung aside to let him in.

Harry looked around the room, bewildered. There must be something here, a clue, a hint, to help him figure out what to do next. Dumbledore must have left him _something_. He looked at the heavy oak desk with its numerous little drawers. Would it be trespassing to look through a dead person's desk? He hesitated for a moment, then began to open each drawer in turn. What a bizarre collection of items the desk contained! A half-finished manuscript, in Dumbledore's elegant hand, on Sumerian beer production, a Muggle passport bearing the name "Alfred Dunn" underneath Dumbledore's smiling portrait, a large collection of chocolate frog cards (including, Harry noted, the ultra-rare Enmerkar of Uruk), a jar containing half a mackerel in clear liquid, with the label: "mermaid, bottom half", a small tattered pamphlet that bore the title "Lost Jam Recipes of Zhangzhung", a fake tarantula, and... What was that? Something golden in the back of the drawer, squished in between a tube of Manticore Tooth Paste and a signed photograph of someone named Uri Geller...

It was a time-turner! But the time-turners had all been destroyed during the battle at the Ministry of Magic, hadn't they? Wait... but what if this was Hermione's time-turner, the one she had used during their third year, when she and Harry had rescued Sirius and Buckbeak? Hermione had turned it in afterward - but where exactly had she turned it in? Harry had never asked. He had merely assumed that it had been returned to the Ministry of Magic somehow, and been destroyed with the others.

Yes, this was the same time-turner, an intricate little golden instrument on a chain. Apparently, Hermione had merely turned it in to Dumbledore, assuming, perhaps, that he would pass it on to the ministry.

The time turner! Harry sank back in Dumbledore's chair, clutching the delicate golden instrument in his hand. With the time-turner, he could bring back Dumbledore! He could go back in time and stop Snape from killing Dumbledore. No wait, he could _bring back Sirius! _And his parents... His head was dizzy with possiblities. Where to begin? Which point in time would he have to return to in order to save all of Voldemort's innocent victims? To the very beginning, of course, to the time before Tom Riddle became Voldmort... To the time when Tom Riddle was just an ordinary schoolboy, like himself. Yes, that was it! He would go back in time and kill the young Tom Riddle! But how many spins would he have to give the golden clockwork for that? He turned the time-turner over and over in his hand. Suddenly, he noticed a small scrap of paper stuck to the back of it, with tiny writing in an elegant hand. He screwed up his eyes, and was barely able to make out the words: "42 is a good number, Harry!"

Harry grinned to himself. "Thank you, headmaster!" he whispered. He counted carefully as he spun the time-turner, and the room began to spin around him.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing he saw was Dumbledore, leaning against the doorway, beaming at him. A much younger Dumbledore, with auburn hair and beard, but the bright blue eyes had the same twinkle as always.

"There you are, Harry," he said matter-of-factly. "I think we had better step out of Professor Dippet's office before anyone catches us." _Of course, Dumbledore is not headmaster yet._

They stepped out of the headmaster's office and began to descend the silvery spiral staircase together.

"But - " Harry's mind was whirling. "But how do you know who I am, Sir? I didn't exist in this time until right now..."

He realized, belatedly, that his statement must have seemed absurd to the Dumbledore of the past, but the professor seemed to take it in stride. "Not in this time, no." He smiled at Harry's confusion. "Oh, you know me, Harry. I'm a man of eccentric habits. I come and go..."

He looked at Harry with a sudden look of sternness. "You, on the other hand, had better be careful, and not say too much."

He produced his wand from the pockets of his robe, and a piece of parchment floated down to Harry through the air. "Your course schedule, Harry. You will find yourself added to the Hogwarts rosters as "Harry Black", newly arrived student who was home-schooled until recently."

"Harry Black?"

Dumbledore beamed. "Yes, I thought using your real name would create too much confusion in school records. They've been known to explode when they detect time paradoxes. I thought you might like "Black", but I can still change it if you wish..."

"No." Harry grinned. "I like it." A sudden thought occurred to him. "So, I'm in Slytherin, then?"

Dumbledore looked at him in astonishment. "In Slytherin? Of course not, Harry! Time, space, and history may occasionally be subject to change, of course, but there is no magic on earth that could turn you into a Slytherin. You are in Gryffindor, as always."

"Oh." Harry was absurdly happy at the thought. "But I thought Sirius was, I mean, _will be_ the first member of the Black family to be sorted into Gryffindor?"

"Well, not any more, obviously." Dumbledore smiled.

He pointed at the parchment in Harry's hand. "Your next class will be potions. In the dungeon, with Professor Slughorn. I expect it will prove most interesting. Well, Harry, I must be off. I received a package from my bookseller this morning, and I'm dying to see if it's the latest report on the archaeological excavations of Zhangzhung that he had promised me. They have made some sensational finds, apparently." Harry thought of the pamphlet he had found in Dumbledore's desk and smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry looked around curiously as he wove his way through the familiar passages and corridors, filled with unfamiliar students. His heart leaped: Was that the red hair of a Weasley - ? No, the face was all wrong.

_They are all strangers…No wait, I'm the stranger._

Many of the students cast him curious glances as he strolled by. A few of the girls turned to look at him, and he caught a few snatches of whispered conversations, which, oddly, seemed to be about the attractiveness of his messy hair. And indeed, he probably did stand out a little in the sea of slickly combed boys that seemed to populate Hogwarts in this time. Aunt Petunia would have been deeply appreciative of all this flat, obedient hair.

Towards the end of a long corridor, lit by flickering torches casting their warm glow over the ancient stone walls, he came upon a group of small girls, first years by the looks of them, hurling malice at a little girl in glasses and pigtails. Good God, these tiny girls were vicious! The girl with the glasses cowered against the wall, little sobs shaking her skinny frame, but one of the other girls, a rather pretty, dark-haired one, still kept taunting her relentlessly: "Those hideous glasses make you look like some kind of deformed owl… I can't imagine how you can stand looking at yourself in the mirror."

One of the other girls mumbled, "Oh, come off it Olive, that's enough. Myrtle's already crying. She can't _help_ being ugly, you know."

_Myrtle?_ _But then this must be…_

Harry swooped down on the group of girls. "What are you doing to her?" Olive swirled around at the sound of his voice. At the sight of the older boy, her face assumed a look of pretty innocence that, if possible, infuriated Harry further.

He looked at the miserable little bespectacled girl. _Poor little Myrtle, you hate yourself even more that they hate you, don't you?_ _What can I say to help you? What can I say to prevent you from crying in the bathroom by yourself, until a monster rises from below?_

He cleared his throat. "You girls are insane," he said curtly. "You are calling her ugly? She is more beautiful than any of you." The wave of shocked disbelief running through the group of girls was almost tangible. Harry turned to Myrtle. "You are adorable. Don't let anyone tell you differently," he said softly.

Olive's face was frozen in a look of complete incomprehension. But Myrtle rubbed the tears away on the sleeve of her robe and gazed at Harry with wonder. There was suddenly a glittering in her green eyes, and little dimples formed in her cheeks. How different she looked when she smiled! Harry suddenly realized, in utter bewilderment, that Myrtle was turning beautiful before his eyes. Magically transformed, or so it seemed to him, she flashed him another dimpled smile, and walked away down the corridor, leaving her stunned tormentors behind.

_How can she suddenly be so pretty just because I said she was? I will never understand the mystery of women and their beauty… Apparently, I just performed some kind of magic, but I have no idea how or what._

He finally found his way to the dungeon. A few other stragglers were just entering the room as well. Professor Slughorn stood in front of the class, portly and pretentious as always, dressed in robes of crushed velvet in some appalling shade of heliotrope. His hair and whiskers were a little fuller, their shade a little more on the ginger side; otherwise he was the Slughorn Harry knew. As Slughorn caught his eye, Harry felt his heart racing: _Please don't blow my cover, professor, please don't let on that you know me…_

But of course this was nonsense; Slughorn didn't know him at all. _How can I know you so well, when you don't know me at all? Surely, you must remember me once you see the scar? Is there no part of our mind that remembers the things to come?_

Apparently not. Slughorn merely looked the new student over with an appraising glance, and then gave him a friendly nod. "You must be the new student, Harry Black. Would you be related to the talented potion maker Arcturus Black, by any chance?"

_Yes, I am his unborn grandson's godson._

"Yes, Sir. A different branch of the family, though." _The healthy branch that fell off the diseased pureblood tree…_

"Ah…" Slughorn seemed very pleased at this news. "A very ancient family, Black, a very ancient and noble family indeed."

Harry, feeling slightly nauseated with Slughorn's desperate attraction to power and wealth, looked around the classroom. Strangers, sitting in the familiar seats, in the familiar dungeon.

_Where was Riddle? There, in the very back…_ Harry's breath caught in his chest as he caught sight of the familiar face. He had seen him before, of course, the young Tom Riddle, but only as a recollection in the Pensieve, made of mist and smoke, and a long-ago memory captured in a diary. Not like this, a boy of flesh and blood, with tousled dark curls and rather beautiful grey eyes.

Harry felt in his pocket for his wand as Tom met his glance across the room. As they grey eyes met his, Harry felt a sudden surge of panic. _He knows me. I can see it in his eyes, a glimmer of recognition._

_Of course he knows me. We are eternally bound to each other, Voldemort and I. Slughorn may not remember that which has not yet happened, but you, the Dark Lord to be, you will remember me…_


	4. Chapter 4

Slughorn's voice seemed to come from far away. "Well, then, Harry, if you would kindly take a seat… There is an open one in the back next to Tom. You can share his book as well, until your own arrives from Flourish and Blotts."

Harry walked slowly to the back of the room. _He knows me! Perhaps the prophecy about the two of us has always existed. Perhaps our bond is stronger than time…. _His hand reached for his wand inside the pockets of his robe. _I must kill him now, before he has a chance to act._

But as his hand closed around his wand, he realized how utterly impossible it would be to kill Tom Riddle in a room full of students. _Avada Kedavra. _The spell won't work if you don't really mean it… He had never imagined it would be easy to utter the deadly spell, but he always thought he would be able to do it, one day, when faced with Voldemort. He would look into the terrible scarlet eyes, recall his parents, and kill their dark-clad murderer.

But to look into the grey eyes of a schoolboy and utter the killing curse - that was something quite different. Harry suddenly imagined how it would appear to the other students if he were to kill Tom Riddle right now, in front of them: A stranger appeared among them, a new student, who suddenly and for no reason killed one of their classmates, and then disappeared. _They would see me as evil…_ _But this murder is necessary to prevent the ones that are to come. Yes, but they won't know that. They will only see that I killed an innocent boy. To them, I would be a figure of dread. To them I would be… Voldemort…_

Harry sank down into his seat, his head spinning.

"Harry?" Tom's whisper sounded unexpectedly soft. _Well, what did I expect? A serpent's hiss?_

He looked up and met the other boy's glance. _How different you look, Tom! I remember your face, white as death, but now your face is flushed, beautiful, human… How odd to see you so human._

"Harry," Tom whispered again. "Have we met each other before?"

_Oh, God. What do I say? The truth. _

Harry shook his head. "No, I don't think we have met each other– before…"

_But we have met each other after, in a time that does not yet exist._

Tom looked at him for a moment longer, then smiled. He seemed even more human when he smiled. _Oh, why can't he look more like himself?_

"No, you are right. I don't think we have met. It's just that you seem so familiar to me, like we used to know each other, somehow. Can you sense it, too?"

Harry felt his face flush. _I hope he is not yet as good at reading minds as he will be in the future. _"Yes, I suppose so. Kind of odd, but I have heard of these things happening. Some kind of déjà vu_, _I suppose." He tried to shrug casually.

"Now today," came Slughorn's voice from the front of the room, "I have a particularly difficult challenge for you. A devilishly tricky potion, called _The Draught of Living Death._"

_Speaking of déjà vu… Do I still remember the Half-Blood Prince's secret improvements on the instructions in the book? Let's see, use the blade of the silver knife to crush the sopophorous bean, add an extra clockwise stir after every seventh counterclockwise. Yes, I do recall the instructions I read in the future, left me by a student from the past. God, I've got to stop doing this. If I think about time too much, my brain will be crushed like the sopophorous bean…_

The potions ingredients were distributed, and the students began to work quietly. Tom seemed quite good at potion making, and his potion was rapidly turning a rather nice shade of purple. _Of course. Tom Riddle, the model student. _Judging by the groans he heard from around the room, and a few distinctly unpleasant odors emanating from some of the cauldrons, not everyone found the task equally easy.

Harry heard a small gasp at his side. Tom was staring into his cauldron, perplexed. "But… How on _earth_ did you get the potion to turn so pale? I followed the instructions precisely, and my potion is nowhere near as pale as this."

"Oh-" Harry shrugged. "I didn't quite follow the instructions, I'm afraid. I decided to change a few things. Seems to have worked."

"You changed – the instructions?" There was both puzzlement and admiration in Tom's face. "I didn't think one could do that…"

"Well, well, _well!_" Slughorn had appeared by their side. He gazed at the contents of Harry's cauldron with something resembling rapture. "Harry, my dear boy, I have never seen anything like this! What extraordinary talent! Home-schooled you say? Your family must be quite remarkable!"

He winked at Tom. "Well, I'm sorry to say, Tom, that it looks like you have a rival. You appear to have met your equal at last!" He chuckled, and went on to inspect the sorry concoctions of the other cauldrons.

Harry felt Tom's glance scrutinize him. _He must resent me now. He must be jealous of me!_

But there was no malice in the other boy's grey eyes, and no hostility in his voice as he whispered: "Yes, I do think I have met my equal…"


	5. Chapter 5

As Harry was leaving the classroom, he heard footsteps behind him.

"Black! Hey, Black!"

Two boys had followed him, a tall dark one with a moody look and a muscular blond one with cold blue eyes.

"Hey, Black, we want to talk to you for a moment."

The dark boy looked him over, slowly. "I'm Lestrange, and this is Avery. We are both in Slytherin with Tom."

_Avery and Lestrange._ _I know your names – your future sons will become death eaters. What do you want from me?_

Avery spoke in a low voice: "Black, Tom Riddle asked us to invite you for – for an event tonight."

"What sort of event?"

Avery looked around to make sure they were not overheard. "Well – it's a sort of secret society, actually. Only a select few even know that we exist."

"What sort of society?"

"We call ourselves The Knights of Walpurgis. Any other information is for the initiates only. Tom thought you seemed like someone we might invite for the test."

"Test?"

"Yes, the potential candidates will be tested before any secrets are revealed to them. It's a highly select group, for students with the right kind of background and talent only. Usually, we only admit Slytherins, but seeing that you are a Black - "

_How charming. What is this, the Young Death Eaters? _

Harry did not particularly care for the sounds of the Knights of Walpurgis, but it would be very tempting indeed to find out more about the future death eaters and their secrets.

He nodded. "I'm in," he said briefly.

The two boys looked pleased. "Yes, I thought you looked like the right sort," said Lestrange. The smile that passed like a brief shadow across his face did not make him look any more pleasant.

"Meet us at midnight by the entrance to the Slytherin common room. We will go from there."

Harry spent the evening trying desperately to orient himself in this unfamiliar time. _What year is this? There is a chill in the air. It feels like fall, but the fall of what year?_

_Myrtle is not yet dead, so Tom can't have found the chamber of secrets or unleashed the basilisk. He has not yet committed his first murder, the murder of his father. This must be Tom's fifth year, then. He doesn't know how to make a Horcrux yet. Perhaps I can somehow stop that idiot Slughorn from telling him…_

_Wait, that was a fifth year potions class I was just in? I thought we didn't learn about the Draught of Living Death until the sixth year? Oh, well, I suppose standards used to higher… _He seemed to recall, vaguely, the barely literate Uncle Vernon complaining about declining standards in education, and he smiled a little to himself. _I guess it's the same everywhere. _

Dinner in the Great Hall was both familiar and strangely new. Dumbledore was seated at the staff table, but the headmaster's seat was occupied by an odd little wizard in purple robes with a frizzy grey beard. And there was Professor Binns, looking exactly the same, except somehow more solid. And surely that tiny little professor with the wild brown hair was a much younger version of Flitwick? But the other professors were all unfamiliar.

Tom sat at the Slytherin table, of course, with Avery and Lestrange and a group of other boys. Harry looked curiously around the Gryffindor table. The round-faced boy next to him gave him a friendly grin. _Neville?_

"Hi, Black!" His voice was like Neville's as well. "Saw you in potions class today – you were terrific! You should have seen the faces of the Slytherins afterwards! They all believed that you would be in their house of course, like all the other Blacks. But then Slughorn told them you were in Gryffindor. They were so disappointed! Slughorn didn't sound too happy about it himself. I'm sure he would have liked you in his house, you know."

A sudden thought seemed to have struck him. "Oh! I haven't even introduced myself yet. I'm Longbottom. Algie Longbottom."

_Uncle Algie! You're the one who gave Neville his toad!_

Harry could not resist. "Nice to meet you, Algie. Er… do you like toads?"

Algie's face grew wistful. "Toads? Yes, I love them, but my mom won't let me have one. She says they are too slimy. Bad for the upholstery. Why do you ask?"

Harry smiled. "Oh, no reason. You just struck me as the type of boy who would like toads."

Algie, the Neville-who-was-not-Neville, apparently found this to be a reasonable answer. He stabbed his chicken sadly.

"You know," he said. "When I have a child of my own, I will let him have a toad if he wants one. Even if it ruins the upholstery."

Who else was in Gryffindor? No Weasleys, as far as he could see. He was introduced to a sweet girl named Enid, with long braids and a face as round as Algie's, Ignatius Prewett, a serious-looking boy with a prefect's badge pinned prominently to his chest, and several others whose names he promptly forgot.

A girl across from him, with brown braids and earnest eyes, leaned across the table. "I heard what you did in potions class, Black. Very impressive! They say you were able to extract copious amounts of juice from the sopophorous beans, using a different technique than the one recommended by the book. That is so fascinating! I have read all the books in the library on potion making, but not a single one mentions an alternative method. Do you think you could give me a reference to your source some time?"

_Hermione? No, Hermione is Muggle-born, she can't have a relative at Hogwarts in this time. But she does sound a lot like Hermione. _

"Do you – do you by any chance play Quidditch as well?" the girl enquired.

_No, not Hermione. _

"Yes, I've played quite a bit. Seeker, mostly."

The girl squealed in excitement. "_Seeker! _Are you good?"

Harry smiled. "Yes, I'm quite decent. I've played a lot…"

She beamed. "Excellent! You must try out for the team tomorrow! We haven't had a decent seeker since Quigley left."

She called to a tall boy further down the table: "O'Hare! I think I have found you a seeker!"

O'Hare looked at Harry with delight. "Oh, excellent!" he called back. "Thanks, Minerva!" _Minerva McGonagall?_

Harry spent a pleasant evening in the Gryffindor common room, getting acquainted with his fellow Gryffindors and learning more about the Quidditch team. Minerva complained bitterly about her ancient broom, a Cleansweep Two.

"Honestly, who rides a Cleansweep Two in 1942?" she said moodily. "I might as well be riding on a Tinderblast…." Apparently, the Slytherin players were all equipped with brand-new Comet 200s. _Good God, how can someone be jealous of a Comet 200? This really is a different time, isn't it?_

As Harry unpacked a trunk that he found by his bed (arranged for by Dumbledore, he assumed), he was happy to see that its contents included a Comet 180. It looked a little unwieldy, but anything was better, apparently, than a Cleansweep Two.

One by one, the other boys fell asleep around him. He lay still, listening to their breathing, until it was close to midnight. _Time to meet the Slytherins!_

Harry's heart hammered in his chest as he approached the Slytherin common room at the appointed hour.

There were five boys there, all dressed in dark robes, waiting for him. Avery and Lestrange, a small dark-haired boy, a taller one with flaxen hair who seemed disturbingly familiar, and Tom Riddle. Tom nodded at him.

"Welcome to our little gathering, Black. You have met Avery and Lestrange of course, and this is a relation of yours, Alphard Black…

"Hello," said the small boy, a bit anxiously. "I don't think we have met, but then I don't really know people from the other branches of our family all that well. I hear you are really good at potions…"

_Alphard Black? Now, who is he? The name is familiar. Ah, Sirius' uncle, whose name was blasted off the family tree! Perhaps there is some hope for this little Slytherin. _

Tom continued, "… and then there is Abraxas, of course, Abraxas Malfoy."

The flaxen-haired boy gave Harry an appraising look and a small nod.

_Oh, damn, another Malfoy! Abraxas… You must be Draco's grandfather. I seem to recall that you will die of dragon pox. The sooner the better, I would say by the looks of you…_

"Give me your wand, Black." Tom held out his hand.

"My wand - ?" No way. He shook his head. "I don't think so, Tom."

He heard little gasps from Avery and Lestrange. Apparently, they were not used to anyone contradicting their leader.

Tom smiled. "This is part of the test, Harry. In order for me to trust you, you have to trust me." His voice was soft, and dangerously seductive.

_Trust you? You bet your life I don't._ But I do want to see what will happen next…

Silently, he handed his wand to Tom. A look of astonishment spread over Tom's face as he touched the wand. "Your wand… What sort of wand is this, Black?"

"Holly."

Tom shook his head impatiently. "No, I didn't mean that, you moron – I can tell that for myself. I am not blind. The core – what is the core of your wand?"

Harry thought for a moment. Oh, why not make things interesting? He said curtly. "Phoenix feather. Same as yours."

Tom's eyes widened in surprise. "How do you know the core of my wand?"

_Surprised, are you, Tom? I know more about you than you could possible imagine._

Harry shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. I can sense these things sometimes."

"Can you-?" There was a touch of awe in Tom's voice, which he hastily concealed as he went on. "Well then, Black, here are the rules. I will test you tonight, and I will see what you are made of. You are not to question anything I say, no matter what happens. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded. He could feel Tom's glance linger on his face, but pretended he didn't notice.

"Well, let's get ready then." Tom nodded to Avery, who produced a black scarf from the pockets of his robe. "You have to be blindfolded for this part."

Avery made a motion to tie the scarf around Harry's eyes, but Tom stopped him. "No, Avery, I think I will do this myself."

Harry felt the scarf being fastened over his eyes, tightly. A whisper came in his ear from behind him, soft, like a breath: "Are you ready, Harry?"

"Yes, I'm ready." He could hear that his own voice sounded hoarse and strange. _But what was this? _He felt a hand touch his cheek lightly and a finger trace his lips, swiftly, lightly, almost imperceptibly.

_Tom is playing games with me._

Then Harry felt his arms being pulled behind his back, and a second scarf was tied around his wrists.

"Let's go, Harry." Tom breathed in his ear. Harry felt his heart beating wildly in his chest. _I wonder what game we are playing…_ He felt a rush of fear and exhilaration, strangely and pleasurably intertwined, as he was led, blindly, to his unknown destination.


	6. Chapter 6

They stopped. Harry could hear water, water crashing on rocks. They must be by the lake.

Then Tom's voice came from behind him: "Avery, Lestrange, Alphard, Malfoy – you go and get him. I will stay here with Black." It was a voice that was used to being obeyed.

_Get who? _

Harry heard rapid footsteps retreating, and then there was silence. He was alone with Tom.

_If only I had my wand… _

Tom's voice was a whisper in his ear: "Tell me about yourself, Black."

"Nothing to tell."

"Oh, come on now! You must have something to share. What's the story of your scar?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Don't you? Well, I do." Harry felt Tom's hand against his forehead, and a finger traced the outline of his scar. He had half expected to feel searing pain at the touch, but there was no pain, just a strange tingling sensation. Sort of like an electric jolt, but not unpleasant.

"What a strange shape. I can't think of anything that would leave such a scar. What was it – a curse of some kind?"

"Perhaps."

He felt Tom's grip on his arm tighten. "Don't forget, Black, this is _my_ game we are playing. I get to set the rules. I need to know who you are, need to know if you can be trusted. Tell me three things about yourself that you don't want others to know."

"What? What kind of game is that?"

"My game. Come on, Black. Three secrets. This is part of the test. And I will know if you lie. I can always sense if someone lies to me."

_Tom Riddle, almost legilimens. I'd better play along. What can I say that will interest him without revealing too much? _

Harry thought fast.

"All right. First secret: The Sorting Hat was going to put me in Slytherin, but I told it not to."

That had the desired effect. He could hear Tom draw his breath sharply. "You _told_ the Sorting Hat where to put you? But that's absurd! The Sorting Hat has the magical ability to tell your true character; you can't deceive or outwit it."

_True, but you can _ask_ it. Never thought of that, did you, Tom? _

Harry shrugged. "You asked for a secret, not for an explanation."

"I see." Tom was definitely interested now; Harry could hear it in his voice. "So you outwitted the Sorting Hat, did you, Black? What other secrets are you hiding?"

"Let's see… My scar. It was left by a curse, like you said."

"And which curse was that? That must have been a powerful dark curse of some kind."

"It was. _Avada Kedavra._"

There was a moment of complete silence. Then Tom's voice came, hoarsely, out of the darkness. "But that isn't possible, Black. Do you even know what that curse does?"

_Oh, I think I do. _

"The killing curse. Yes."

"You – you _survived _the killing curse?"

"Apparently."

"But – that _can't be._ Nobody survives the killing curse."

"Well, I'm here, aren't I?"

Silence. Absolute silence. Then Tom said softly. "Yes, so you are. And you are not lying either; I would sense it if you did. But _how_ is that possible? To overcome death - ?"

Then other voices came out of the darkness, along with the sound of something heavy being dragged across the ground.

A voice sounded in the darkness: "We've got him, Tom. Took all of us to stun him, but we've got him. Filthy halfblood."

_Who have the got? Which halfblood?_

"He was hiding something in the cupboard in the downstairs hallway, but we caught him, Tom! And guess what he was hiding…_ Acromantula eggs!_"

Acromantula eggs!_Hagrid_! They must have Hagrid! What were they going to do to him?

"Ah, those are dangerous things for a halfblood to play with." Something about Tom's voice made Harry shiver. "A risk to the health and safety of the students. _I think we had better teach him a lesson. Ennervate!" _

And Harry heard an all too familiar voice: "No! Le' me go! I haven' done anythin', yeh brutes, le' me go!"

But the voice by Harry's ear, now curiously cold, whispered: "_Crucio!" _

And Hagrid's screams of pain rang through the night, accompanied by a slight snickering among the other boys.

_My wand! I need my wand! I can kill him now, kill Voldemort and his budding death eaters, obliterate them! Where is my wand? _

But Harry had no wand, and his hands, straining desperately at the knot that tied them together, were useless. _Hagrid!_

And Tom's voice came in his ear again, so impossibly soft: "Do you enjoy seeing the half-blood suffer, Black?"

_I will kill you, Tom, and your laughing friends as well._

Hagrid's screams resonated horribly in Harry's mind. And suddenly, he knew what to do. _The lake. The lake where I once encountered the ghostly Myrtle… She traveled into the lake through the plumbing, didn't she? And if _she_ could travel through the plumbing…_

A strange, dark feeling of triumph rose in him, surged through his entire body.

_Here is my third secret, Tom! _He shouted to Hagrid: "Hagrid! I'm here to help you. _Close your eyes! Whatever you do, close your eyes!"_

And he called out, called out to the monster that he knew could hear and understand him, in the ancient and forbidden serpent tongue:

**_I call upon you, basilisk, to rise from the depths. I am your master, and I bid you: Rise!**_

And he felt something respond from the depths; he felt the monster coming, felt it slither through the hidden chambers of the castle and out into the lake. And then he felt it rising, rising to the surface.

** _I am your master, basilisk. You shall know no master but me. I am your master, and I bid you: Rise, and slay them all. But spare the large one; bring death to all the others.**_

A strange, dark, joy swelled in his heart as he heard something rising from the depths of the lake, heard the boys' screams, and felt Tom's body become rigid with fear.

**_Kill them! Slay them with your eye, but spare the one._**

The water roared as it parted, and he could sense the monster rising. **_I am coming, master, and I obey no one but you.**_

But then he heard a whisper, a timid little voice, shaking with fear: "Help me!"

_Alphard! _The skinny little boy, Sirius' future uncle. The one who was to be blasted off the family tree. How small his voice was, how desperate his cry for help…

Oh, hell. _I will never be a Slytherin, will I?_

Harry cursed softly as he did the only thing he could do. **_That is enough. Enough for now. I bid you to return below.**_

And he heard the waves part again as the monster slid below. For a moment, everything was silent, except for Hagrid's giant sobs, softly echoed by Alphard's.

Then Harry felt his arms being untied, and his blindfold was torn off. He turned, and Tom's face was white in the darkness. Then the Knights of Walpurgis awoke from their paralyzed terror and ran through the forest.

Harry dashed over to Hagrid and pulled him to his feet. Hagrid was shaking, but the smile that lit up his big, homely face was one that Harry knew.

"Yeh saved me, Black! Yeh saved me life!"

And Harry took his old friend's arm, and led him back to the castle in silence. His old friend, or his new friend? Oh, who cared! The Knights of Walpurgis were nowhere to be seen. Harry had a feeling they would leave Hagrid alone from now on. But as Harry looked back, he saw Tom standing by the lake, alone now, and deathly pale in the moonlight.

_That was my third secret, Tom. _


	7. Chapter 7

"Yeh know," Hagrid muttered as they made their way past the irritable portrait of the Fat Lady ("_Out of bed at this hour! Expect me to stay awake all night and wait for you to return, do you? Boys!")_ "that was a magnificent creature, that basilisk was. Magnificent_…"_

"And where exactly have you boys _been?_"

Harry had assumed that the common room would be empty at this hour, but no such luck.

"Out of bed after midnight! Are you _trying_ to lose points for Gryffindor?" It really was quite remarkable how much the young Minerva McGonagall resembled Hermione.

"And not only that, you – " She stopped suddenly, mid-sentence, and let out a little gasp. "Merlin's beard! What happened to you, Hagrid? Have you been dragged through the forest?"

She stared at Hagrid, who was covered in bruises, with dirt, blood, and assorted foliage stuck in his wild dark hair.

"Er," said Hagrid, uncomfortably. "Tha' was nothin' really, only a little run-in with the Slytherins. Vile creatures, Slytherins."

"The _Slytherins_ did this to you?" Minerva's whisper was horrified.

"Yeah, an' a nasty Cruciatus curse, too…"

"_They used the Cruciatus Curse?" _Her face was white. "Oh, wait till Professor Dippet hears of this! The ministry must be notified of course, there must be a report…"

"Nah – " "No!" Hagrid and Harry blurted out at the same time.

"You _are not going to report it? Have you taken leave of your senses?"_

"It's okay," Harry said quickly. "They won't bother Hagrid again. I …er… took care of that…"

Hagrid let out a little chuckle. "Yeah, I reckon they won't be botherin' anyone for a while, eh, Harry? Bloody hell, frightened 'em half to death, didn't yeh?"

Minerva's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Frightened the Slytherins half to death? And how exactly did you do that, Harry?"

"Oh – " Harry couldn't really think of anything to say. "A spell. One of those rare ones." He could see that Minerva was not convinced

"Look," he said impulsively. "We can't tell you what happened, because - because Hagrid was up to something when the Slytherins found him, something that would get him into trouble. Nothing bad, I promise, just something a little reckless. But if you knew, you'd probably feel obliged to report it."

"Oh." She considered this for a second, then sighed. "Not something involving wild beasts again, was it Hagrid? You really need to be more careful."

"Oh, I will, Minerva, don't yeh worry…"

She smiled. She actually smiled. "Oh, I will worry, Hagrid, but I suppose I won't report you."

She gathered up her books from the table. "Well, you'd better get to bed, then. If you don't get to sleep soon, Harry, you'll fall asleep in Professor Binns' History of Magic class tomorrow morning."

_I swear she is related to Hermione somehow. _

"Well, if I do, perhaps I could copy your notes?" Harry suggested. _Wait, she's a year ahead of us, isn't she? _"I mean – your notes from last year?"

Minerva snorted. "I suppose you would like that, wouldn't you, Harry? _No way!" _And she stomped up the stairs to the girls' dormitory.

The next day, after a predictably soporific History of Magic lecture, Harry sought out Hermione's favorite spot in the library, a half-hidden window seat in the Sumerian section. He put a dusty ancient volume in his lap so it would look like he was studying in case anyone came by. He needed to be alone. He needed to think. He longed to explore the mysterious world of the Hogwarts that once was, to befriend the ancestors of future friends, to see this beloved place anew through this peculiar twisight that allowed him to see the people and places of the past so strangely haunted by memories of the future. _But I have no business dwelling in the past. I have come here only briefly, as assassin. _

"Black-" A soft whisper in his ear. Oh, hell.

"I need to talk to you, Black."

He didn't need to look up to know who it was.

"Let me guess. I failed the test." He could hear the animosity in his voice.

A soft laughter - "No, Black. I think you are the only one who ever passed it."

_Oh, great. I'm a Knight of Walpurgis. Have you come to offer me a dark mark?_

"Here. Here is your wand back."

Harry took his wand without looking up. It trembled slightly in his hand. _Now. Now I can kill him. _Then he looked up and met Tom's grey eyes.

_How extraordinarily difficult it is to kill. I could have done it last night, as you were tormenting Hagrid, but now… Of course I can do it. I just need to find the right moment. _

He could feel Tom looking at him, intently.

"_I know who you are, you know."_

Harry looked up, sudden fear sending a shock through his body. _He knows-?_

Tom's grey eyes glittered.

"I thought and thought about it last night. You are not like any of the others, not like anyone I ever met. You are brilliant and ruthless, like a Slytherin. And yet the Sorting Hat did not put you in Slytherin – because you _commanded _it otherwise. Who commands the Sorting Hat? _You survived the killing curse_ – the first to ever do so. And then I learn that you are a Parselmouth, a Parselmouth like me. I have never known another Parselmouth. Ever since I was in my second year, I have suspected that the legendary Chamber of Secrets was real, and that it housed a monster. Sometimes I thought I was getting closer to finding it, and to speaking to the monster that dwells in it. There are clues, hidden hints in some of the books I smuggled out of the restricted section of the library. But you – you have been here for a day, and you call upon the basilisk, and it obeys you. And you were ready to_ kill_, to destroy those who had displeased you. You know too much, Black, to be an ordinary student. You do not belong here among us. You are not from this time – "

_Not from this time! How does he know - ? _

Harry could feel Tom leaning even closer. A hand fell softly on his arm and stayed there.

Tom whispered: "There is only one who could have commanded the basilisk, only one who could give orders to the Sorting Hat, only one who could survive the killing curse. I see it now. You are _him, _aren't you? The greatest Parselmouth of them all… _You are Slytherin_. Not "a Slytherin", an ordinary student among us, but _Slytherin, Salazar Slytherin_ himself."

Harry could breathe again. _He thinks I'm Slytherin? What an outlandish notion! But less absurd, perhaps, than the truth._

"Slytherin lived a thousand years ago," he said curtly. He wished, vaguely, that Tom would take his hand away from his arm. Its warmth was distracting as hell. He shook the hand away, impatiently.

Tom was still looking at him, intently. "I know, Harry, but perhaps there are ways to make yourself immortal, to live forever…"

_Oh, don't tell me he got the idea from me!_

"No. I'm not Slytherin."

"You are not?" Tom's voice was puzzled. Harry, bewildered by the strange turn their conversation had taken, bent over his book.

"What's that you are reading, Black?" _God, why won't he go away?_

"Just a book. Leave me alone now."

But Tom grabbed the book out of his hands and scrutinized the ancient text with great interest. Apparently, the funny little wedge shaped letters made sense to him.

He read slowly: "…created a second soul, his equal, as like unto him as his own reflection, a stormy heart for his stormy heart…"

_A second soul? A Horcrux? Is this how he learned about the Horcruxes?_

"Give me the book back, and get lost, Tom. I'm not in the mood for dark magic."

Tom gave him a curious look. "It's not about dark magic, Harry."

_It's not?_

"It's a story about a cruel king, Gilgamesh, who finally finds a friend." And Tom's hand touched his cheek, as lightly as a breath of wind.

Then suddenly, he said: "I want you to be my friend, Harry."

_What? _Oh, this was beyond absurd! Perhaps Hermione had a point, after all, when she warned him that awful things happened to people who messed with time.

Harry took a deep breath, but it didn't help at all. The question still lingered in the air.

He sighed. "You want to be my _friend - ?_ Don't you have enough Knights of Walpurgis following you around? "

Tom shook his head impatiently. "They are my followers, not my friends. You – you are different. You are my equal. I want to get to know you."

_I am your assassin, Dark Lord. But I want to know… I have to know how it happened. How did the grey-eyed boy become He Who Shall Not Be Named? There is cruelty in you, but humanity as well. How did your humanity become so hopelessly lost? I must know this before you die. _

Harry made up his mind. "All right, Tom, I will be your friend – on certain conditions."

Tom nodded. He looked grave, and beautiful as an angel. _Was Lucifer's face this lovely before the fall? _

"I will not harm your giant friend, Harry, or allow anyone else to do so."

"Nor will you harm anyone else in this school."

Tom thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "You have my word."

"And then – and then there is one more thing, Tom."

"What?"

Harry leaned forward. "One last condition for our friendship. I must be able to trust _you_. Tell me three secrets, Tom."

"What? No, Harry. I don't share my secrets with anyone. That is _my_ game, remember."

"It is _my _game now, Tom. That's the final condition. Three secrets."

Tom was silent for an eternity. Then he swallowed, hard. "I guess that's fair, Harry. But promise me you won't – won't _ever _tell…"

"I won't. You have my word."

"All right, then." Tom sat down on the window seat next to Harry, pulled a leg up, and rested his chin on it. How young he seemed all of a sudden, how awkward, like an ordinary boy –

Tom's voice was low. "The first secret… The first secret is that I hate my father, the bastard who abandoned my mother and me. I am an orphan, even though my father is alive. I fantasize about killing him sometimes. I want to go and find him, and when he opens the door, I will look into his eyes and say: "This is for my mother, who died in poverty and misery, and for the years I suffered in the orphanage." And then I will raise my wand and kill him. I don't know if Muggle police could ever solve a murder committed by a killing curse, do you?"

_No, they won't suspect a thing. Instead, they will arrest an innocent old man…_

_Tell me another secret, Tom. _

"And then, the second secret… "

He was silent for so long that Harry thought he would never speak. But then he did. His voice was barely above a whisper.

"The second secret is what happened at the orphanage. There was someone there… a caretaker. I think he singled me out because I was alone. I always kept apart from the other children, and from the adults who watched us. He – he saw that I was vulnerable…"

Tom's face was hidden now, under an arm flung protectively over his features. He whispered: "He did - did things to me. Horrible things. Things that shouldn't happen to anyone. I think the matron knew, but she did nothing."

_Oh, no. Not this. Not this, not this. _

"He was evil," Harry's voice sounded hoarse. "And so was she, for letting it happen."

But Tom shook his head: "Evil… No, they all said he was such a good man, so kind to the children. I understood something, all those years I lived there in the orphanage, lived there with _him: _There is no good or evil. There is only power. And he had power, and I had not. I hated that feeling of powerlessness, _hated _it. But then, when I came to Hogwarts, when I learned of my own powers, I was finally able to free myself from him. From the past. From everything. _I have power now._"

_Oh, God. Tom. _

_Oh, what am I doing? Why is my hand touching his hair like that?_

Harry withdrew his traitorous hand rapidly. "So what – what is the third secret, then, Tom?"

Tom looked down, and Harry felt oddly relieved when he answered: "The third – the third is something I don't even understand yet myself. Something strange and new… I give you my word that I will tell you, Harry, but not quite yet. Let me try to understand it myself first."

Harry nodded. "Alright then, Tom. I suppose we are – friends."

_The assassin and his victim. I wonder which is which - _


	8. Chapter 8

Harry, the hesitant assassin, found his strange new friendship with his future enemy to be rather satisfying. He was surprised to find that Tom was the Seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch team. Since one could not, he reflected, possibly imagine The Dark Lord as a Quidditch player, Tom's brilliance on the Quidditch field only seemed to deepen the chasm between the boy he was and the man he was to become. The more time he spent with Tom, the further Voldemort seemed to slip away, to disappear into some distant and uncomfortable place in Harry's brain.

Harry had been made Gryffindor seeker almost the moment O'Hare had seen him chase a snitch. "Merlin's Beard!" he had yelled, "I have never seen anyone fly like that on a Comet. Where the hell did you learn to play?"

Harry shrugged. "Oh, at home, with a couple of friends."

The moment he had said it, he knew how absurd this must sound. Which friends, exactly, would the home-schooled Harry Black have been playing Quidditch with? Minerva gave him an odd look, and he hastened to add: "Er… We used to have some boys from Durmstrang visit us in the summers…" It sounded like the kinds of visitors the Black family would have.

"Ah." Judging from the expression on his face, O'Hare did not care much for Durmstrang or its students, but he accepted Harry's explanation without any further comment.

Minerva played chaser, and Harry was pleased to find that she was quite good. _I always knew you had it in you, Professor McGonagall! _She was the only girl on the Gryffindor team – in fact, as Harry soon discovered, the only girl on any of the house teams.

Their team captain, O'Hare, a tall black-haired and blue-eyed Irishman, was the Gryffindor keeper. O'Hare, the keeper… The name seemed to ring a bell… _Not Darren O'Hare!_ Harry almost fell off his broomstick in a most inelegant fashion the moment he realized that the Gryffindor captain had to be the legendary future keeper of the Kenmare Kestrels. He was almost tempted to ask for his autograph. _But O'Hare is not the Keeper of Kenmare yet, any more than Tom is The Dark Lord…_

They won their first house match against Slytherin with a good margin, even though Tom played extremely well. But Harry was faster, no doubt because he was used to a much speedier broom and a more rapid pace in the game overall. O'Hare yelled himself hoarse with delight when Harry caught the fluttering snitch in his hand twenty minutes into the game, and every misgiving he may have had about Harry's Durmstrang acquaintances seemed to vanish from his mind from that moment onwards.

But Minerva kept watching him. Almost everywhere Harry went, he could feel a pair of earnest brown eyes following him, and it made him uneasy.

And apparently, Minerva was not the only one keeping an eye on him. As Harry was heading to the Great Hall for tea after a particularly good practice session with Tom, who was by far the most challenging person he had ever played one-on-one with, a tall, dark-haired girl stopped him in the hallway.

"Harry Black. I want to speak to you."

She was very pretty, but her beauty was of a dark, brooding kind, and her expression rather haughty. Something about her was very familiar, but Harry couldn't quite place her.

She scrutinized him intently, and he felt himself beginning to grow very uncomfortable under her gaze.

"Who are you, and why have you assumed the name of Black?" Her voice was icy.

Harry felt a momentary panic, but forced himself to return her glance steadily.

"I'm Harry Black. Who are _you_, and what in Merlin's name are you talking about?"

She snorted. "You are no Black, you filthy impostor. I should know. I am Walburga Black, daughter of the ancient and most noble house of Black. My idiot brother Alphard raves about you, assuming you to be some long-lost distant relative. But I know better. I know our precious family tree better than anyone alive, and I know you are a pretender to our noble ancestral name."

_Walburga? Oh, God, not Sirius' mother, the one in the portrait? _

"I will destroy you, you filthy, presumptuous – " She pulled her wand and pointed it at Harry's chest.

_Oh, hell. What do I do? It wouldn't break my heart to curse her, but she is, after all, Sirius' future mother… _

But before Harry could react, an odd change came over Walburga. Her expression softened, and her eyes grew distant and strangely unfocused.

"Oh," she said, a sudden note of surprise in her voice. "I forgot. Of course, you are Procris' son. Aunt Cassiopeia mentioned that he had a son that he considered sending to Durmstrang. How silly of me to forget."

She smiled at Harry, a lovely and seductive smile that chilled him to the bone. "We should get to know each other better, Harry. We are after all both members of the same noble house, although not too closely related for comfort."

"I'm late for tea," Harry muttered rapidly. He headed towards the Great Hall, flustered, but not too much so to notice Tom leaning idly against the wall of the corridor a little way down, wand still sticking halfway out of his pocket.

"Thanks, Tom," Harry whispered as Tom caught up with him. "_Confundus _charm, was it?"

Tom chuckled. "Yes, and just in time, I would say. Of course, she will expect you to marry her now that you have been found to be of worthy blood."

Harry was appalled. "She wouldn't want to _marry_ another Black, surely? Isn't that a little incestuous?"

Tom shrugged. "Perhaps, but she's got to ensure the continued purity of that Black blood you know."

_Walburga Black? If Sirius' mother's maiden name was also Black, she must have succeeded in finding another worthy Black for her mate… _

Harry recalled the screaming future portrait of Walburga in her beloved ancestral home, and he suddenly remembered that Sirius had once furiously slashed another portrait of a condescending lady to pieces when trying to break into Gryffindor tower. _The Fat Lady. I always wondered what made Sirius attack her so savagely, but now I finally understand: That was not the portrait that he really hated, just a substitute… Poor Sirius. _

"By the way," Tom said conversationally as they entered the Great Hall, "I wouldn't mind knowing what your real name is, you know. Just between you and me. I promise I won't tell Walburga."

Harry could feel his heart thumping in his chest. "I dare say I will tell you, one of these days," he muttered as they parted and headed off to their different tables.

Walburga may have believed him to be among the blackest of the Blacks, but Harry found that the brown-eyed detective trailing him so earnestly these days was not so easily convinced. He had escaped to the library one afternoon to get away from Walburga's sudden constant desire for his company, only to run into Minerva. She was holding an impossibly large ancient vellum-covered book in her arms, and she faced him with a flush of indignation.

"_You've been lying, Harry!_"

Harry glanced around in horror, but no one else was within earshot.

"What do you mean, Minerva?"

Her otherwise kind brown eyes flashed at him. "Oh, you know perfectly well what I mean! I saw your little interchange with Walburga in the hallway the other day. Well, you may have confounded her into believing that you are who you say you are, but you are not, are you? I have studied the entire Black family history – it's quite well documented, you know, and _you are no Black. _Who the hell _are _you? And what are you playing at?"

_Oh, God. What do I say? I can't lie to her, but I can't tell her the whole truth either. _

"Minerva," he said slowly. "You are right. I'm not a Black. But I'm here because I've got an important mission to fulfill, and I need you not to blow my cover. A lot is at stake here, more than you could possibly imagine."

She looked at him, her brown eyes filled with both wonder and hesitation. "Tell me who you really are, then, Harry, and tell me what this mission is."

Harry swallowed. "The thing is, Minerva, I can't really tell anyone. You are going to have to trust me."

He saw that she was about to protest. "Look, Minerva, I did not confound the school records myself to enter my name as Harry Black. Only Dumbledore could have done that. Go – go talk to Dumbledore. I don't think he can tell you much, but he can tell you whether I can be trusted."

"Dumbledore?" He could see that she was thinking hard. "_Dumbledore_ himself confounded the records? Yes, he must have; they are protected by spells that would only allow a Hogwarts teacher to alter them. Odd, though, that a regular teacher could have done it, I would have thought that only the headmaster…"

_Or the future headmaster, perhaps?_

She sighed, but nodded. "Yes, I will speak to Dumbledore. If he vouches for you, I will trust you. I trust Dumbledore's judgment."

_You always have, and always will. Even about Snape…_

"But Harry – " Minerva's big brown eyes looked at him with worry.

"Yes?"

"Whatever it is that you have to do, whatever your task is, just _be careful of the Slytherins._ You are spending way too much time with Tom Riddle."

"Oh." Harry could feel himself flush. "He's – he's not a bad sort, really, once you get to know him."

"He's a Slytherin, Harry. Never forget that."

"And Gryffindors and Slytherins are never friends, are they?"

Minerva shook her head. "No, they are not, and they should not be. The Slytherins have a cruel ambition that you and I are better off not being tainted by."

"But – but surely there can be good in a Slytherin as well?" Harry wondered to himself why he felt it necessary to argue with her about this. "Doesn't history tell us that even Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin were friends?"

"Gryffindor and Slytherin!" Minerva sank into a chair, a strange expression on her face. "Gryffindor and Slytherin! What do you know of them and their friendship, Harry?"

"Well…" Harry was puzzled. "Only what everyone knows, I suppose. They used to be friends, and then they had a falling out over whether only pure-blood wizards should be admitted to Hogwarts."

"Yes, that's what the history books tell us, but history also hints at something more."

"What?"

Minerva sighed. "It's all in _Hogwarts, a History. _Honestly, doesn't anyone _ever_ read that book? There are suggestions that the friendship between Gryffindor and Slytherin was more than mere friendship, that there was…" she swallowed "a – a sort of unnatural and perverted love between them."

_Oh. _Harry didn't know what to say.

"Just be careful, Harry, that's all. Don't be taken in by the Slytherins."

Harry stared after her as she went off in search of Dumbledore. He knew that Minerva would receive the assurance that she needed – so why did he feel so uneasy? He tried to shake the feeling off and attempted to complete a twelve inch essay on the strained relationship between the Wizengamot and the Great Council of Bagdad in the Middle Ages. He had a suspicion that most of it turned out complete nonsense.

That night Harry dreamed of Gryffindor and Slytherin and their unnatural love. His dreams were sweet and strange and filled with images of wild forbidden things that lingered in his mind long after waking. And in the morning he found, to his horror, that his bed was wet and sticky. He hastily whispered a spell that removed the shameful substance from his sheets.

He dressed himself rapidly, glad that no one else was awake yet to see the flush on his cheeks. He pulled out his Defense Against the Dark Arts book and began to re-read his assigned homework, but somehow, there seemed to be no defense against the image of Slytherin and his grey eyes…


	9. Chapter 9

Something was happening. There was change in the air, and trepidation as well. The professors seemed tired and pale and curiously absent-minded in class, and Professor Flitwick was so flustered that he accidentally set his handkerchief on fire when attempting to do demonstrate a cleaning charm.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, a normally cheerful little witch named Professor Merrythought, entered class with a new grim and efficient demeanor and attempted to teach the students to produce patronuses. "You never know when you may need them," she said briefly by way of explanation.

The lesson proved to be extremely difficult for most of the class, and the majority of the Gryffindor students only managed to produce wisps of silvery vapor after an hour or so of strenuous concentration. Algie's silver cloud had four little protrusions, and Harry suspected that they would eventually develop into the legs of a toad. Algie, although eerily similar to Neville, seemed to have a merry confidence about him that his future nephew did not. _Maybe because Algie's parents weren't tortured to insanity by the death eaters…_

Harry's own stag patronus made the other students gasp as it cantered around the room. "Oh, excellent!" cried Professor Merrythought, beaming at him. "Where on earth did you learn to do this? Home-schooled, you say? Goodness gracious!"

Harry looked over at Minerva, expecting to see a silver cat shoot out of her wand, but there was nothing feline about the small blob emanating from her wand. "How do you _do_ it?" she whispered to Harry. "I'm _thinking_ good thoughts, but it doesn't seem to work properly." She seemed quite upset with herself, and Harry felt bad for her.

"What are you thinking about? Perhaps you need to draw on a stronger memory."

Minerva frowned. "I'm thinking of my parents, my dear mama and papa. What could be happier than that?"

Harry smiled at her. "How about the first time you played Quidditch?"

"Really?" She sounded quite surprised at the suggestion. "I thought – I thought it had to be something about _others_ for some reason, not just something about _me_."

_Good God, how _are_ they raising girls in 1942?_

Harry shrugged. "But playing Quidditch makes you happy, doesn't it?"

Minerva looked doubtful, but when a graceful cat leaped from her wand a moment later, she broke out in a wide grin.

The Slytherins seemed to have a particularly difficult time with this lesson. Professor Merrythougt sighed. "Ah, yes, it's always the same. I don't know why producing a patronus is so difficult for our Slytherin students. Just try your best, my dears."

Harry rather enjoyed listening to Abraxas Malfoy cursing under his breath. Only two of the Slytherin students managed to produce anything at all. One was little Alphard Black, who looked enormously pleased with himself. It was impossible to tell what his hazy patronus was, but it was _something. _Alphard spent the rest of the afternoon polling the other students about whether they thought his patronus looked more like a platypus or a starfish. The other Slytherin who produced a patronus was Tom. Harry stared in wonder as a silvery animal leaped from Tom' yew wand towards the end of the lesson. What was it? It was not quite distinct enough to tell, but it was not a serpent. It was a rather large animal with four legs; that was all Harry was able to make out.

_None of the death eaters are able to produce a patronus, so how can you, Tom? _

Harry felt uneasy. _Why_ was Professor Merrythought insisting that they all learn about patronuses so suddenly? What would they need to defend themselves against?

He kept walking into small groups of students huddled around the most recent issues of _The Daily Prophet. _Harry was able to read a few headlines over Algie's shoulder: "Grindelwald's Troops Slay Thousands", "More Muggles Tortured", "Death Tolls Rise in Europe"…

"Oh, God," Algie whispered, white-faced. "All those innocent people… Why can't someone stop him? Why can't anyone _do _anything?"

_Grindelwald… _Harry recalled his name from a future chocolate frog card. _Of course someone will stop him. Dumbledore will defeat Grindelwald. _

_But, wait a minute_ – Harry reached for the paper. Algie handed it to him silently and put his arms around his friend Enid's shoulder; she had relatives in Europe, and there was no news about their whereabouts yet.

_No. No, this can't be right. Dumbledore defeats Grindelwald in 1945. But this is still 1942. _

How could this be possible? He had to be wrong about the date. Dumbledore would not let Grindelwald continue his reign of terror for _three years_ before defeating him in a duel, would he? _But I'm not wrong about the date. It was the first chocolate card I ever got, and I spent weeks just staring at it. Dumbledore defeated the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945. Three more years of terror?_

Abruptly, Harry handed the paper back to Algie.

"What's the matter, Harry? Do you have missing relatives in Europe as well?" Harry was touched by the look of sympathy on Algie's pleasant round face.

"No, I just… I need to see Dumbledore."

He found Dumbledore in his office, a much smaller office than the one he was to have as headmaster, but oddly familiar nevertheless, a cramped little room filled with spinning silver instruments, old books and stacks of parchment. Fawkes the phoenix was in his cage as always, a magnificent burst of gold and scarlet plumes. He gave Harry a funny look, as if to say: "You again, my friend?"

"Ah, Harry!" Dumbledore greeted him warmly. "How are you doing, my dear boy? Would you care for a cockroach cluster?"

"Er… no, thanks."

"I can't say I blame you, Harry. They are disgusting, albeit in a curiously satisfying way. Sort of like – "

"Bertie Botts Every Flavored Beans?"

"What?" Dumbledore sounded genuinely puzzled. "What are they?"

_Something that hasn't been invented yet, apparently. _

"Oh," Harry smiled. "Just a sort of candy. Comes in absolutely _every _flavor."

There was a twinkle in Dumbledore's eye. "_Every_ flavor? Merlin's beard, I hope not… But tell me how you are settling in, Harry."

"Oh, fine. But – but I need to ask you something, professor."

"Yes, of course, Harry. Have a seat, but make sure you don't sit on anything sticky."

Harry found a suitably unsticky chair and sat down. "Professor Dumbledore," he began, "there are all these things in the news about Grindelwald. About him killing people."

In spite of his still auburn hair and beard, Dumbledore suddenly looked old, as old as Harry had ever seen him.

"Yes." He sighed. "Yes, Harry, terrible things are happening. It's profoundly upsetting to all of us."

"So why don't you _do_ something?" Harry jumped out of his chair and faced Dumbledore angrily. "Why don't you kill him? You are the one who is supposed to do it, so why don't you do it right now? Why don't you stop him from killing more innocent people?"

"I am the one - the one who is supposed to do it?" Dumbledore's voice was trembling, and Harry looked at him wonderingly.

"Yes, Professor. Don't you remember?"

_Can Dumbledore remember the future? He did remember me – what about Grindelwald?_

"I – no, I'm not sure, Harry. It is true that I am an occasional traveler, much like yourself, and that I have been known to roam here and there, but this… There are things about the future that are hard to recall."

Were those tears in his eyes?

"You had better remind me, Harry," he said softly.

Harry took a deep breath. "Professor, you are supposed to kill Grindelwald. There will be a great duel, between the two of you, and you will win. He will die by your hand. And that will put an end to all this terror, to all the innocent people dying."

"I… I see, Harry. Thank you for telling me this."

"But Professor Dumbledore," Harry burst out, "I don't understand. You – you will defeat Grindelwald in _1945! _I read it on a chocolate frog card. But that's three years from now. Thousands… tens of thousands of innocent people will die before then. You can't wait! You have to do it now, you must kill him _now!"_

Dumbledore's head was bent as he whispered. "Yes, I suppose you are right, Harry. I suppose I must."

"Then what are you waiting for?" Harry looked at Dumbledore in exasperation.

"Oh, Harry," Dumbledore's voice was trembling. "I know what I have to do. But it is - extraordinarily difficult for me to do what I must."

"_Why?_ He's killing people! He's a monster."

"A monster, yes." Dumbledore voice was very quiet. "But you see, Harry, he is my friend as well."

"Your _friend? Grindelwald _is your _friend?"_

Dumbledore nodded. A tear rolled slowly down his cheek. "Before he became a monster, he was my friend. My friend, and more than a friend…"

"Like…" How difficult it was to get the words out! "Like Gryffindor and Slytherin?"

A brief smile crossed Dumbledore's face. "Yes, Harry," he said softly. "Like Gryffindor and Slytherin. He was very different then, you see, when we were young. He was my companion, my equal, someone with a heart and mind very much like my own."

"_A second self. A stormy heart for my stormy heart._" The words sprang unbidden to Harry's lips.

"The story of Gilgamesh?" Dumbledore smiled a little. "Yes, I suppose it was like that. Except that Gilgamesh' cruel heart was changed by his friendship with the innocent Enkidu, and Grindelwald's heart could never lose its cruelty. There was a darkness in him that could not be redeemed. I loved him. I still do. Yes, I am ashamed to admit it: I love him even after reading about the atrocities in the news. I wish I did not. An odd thing, the human heart, isn't it? I love him. And now, I have to become his murderer."

_His murderer. How can he kill the person he loves? And yet, how can he not?_

_I know how he feels-_

Harry leaned against the wall. He felt sick at heart.

"It's not easy, is it, Harry?" came Dumbledore's voice softly.

"No – "

"And yet, we must do what we must do."

"Yes," Harry whispered. "I suppose we must."

The next day, he learned that Dumbledore had left the school for an important mission abroad and would not return for some time. _History will change. The chocolate frog cards will proclaim 1942 to be the date of Dumbledore's greatest victory. _This thought should have made Harry feel better, but somehow, it did not.

_Dumbledore is a courageous man indeed. No one will ever know how much this victory will cost him. _

Harry walked slowly through the Hogwarts grounds at twilight, trying to come to terms with the impossible task that lay ahead. _I must do what I must do. Or else a second Grindelwald will arise, more terrifying than the first. Voldemort's reign will be worse than any the world has known. I must become a murderer so Tom will not._

"There you are, Harry!" Tom's familiar voice called out to him from somewhere nearby. "Watch this!"

The shimmering silver form of a patronus, haunting in its loveliness in that twilight hour, came towards him. It was a stag.


	10. Chapter 10

_[Author's note: Thanks for the reviews! Love hearing your thoughts! Yes, Kittenn1011, you are right: Dumbledore does not kill Grindelwald according to the canon; he defeats him and has him imprisoned. But I'm not sure Harry would have known this from just reading on a chocolate frog card that Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald. This story is set right after Dumbledore's death in the sixth book, so Harry won't be familiar with the details of Grindelwald's life laid out in the seventh book yet. In this story, it is easy for Harry to jump to the wrong conclusion about the nature of Dumbledore's victory, since he is preoccupied with murder anyway… More below!] _

Dumbledore had been gone for three weeks. Harry followed the news nervously. Surely, there would be news of Dumbledore's victory over Grindelwald soon? Or his defeat…

Finally, the news came. The headline in the Daily Prophet declared, in type of unprecedented size: _**Grindelwald defeated at last**__._ Harry's heart beat faster. So Dumbledore had been able to do it, after all. He felt a profound sense of relief, mingled with admiration, and, somewhere in the depths of his heart, a curious, discordant note of sadness. Dumbledore had been able to kill the one he loved…

But what was this? The picture under the headline showed a shackled man, with a shock of golden curls and a frightened expression on his face. _Grindelwald? Alive? _

Harry read the article underneath the picture rapidly, heart pounding in his chest:

_Eyewitnesses report that the most dangerous dark wizard the world has ever known, Gellert Grindelwald, whose hand has orchestrated so many of the recent gruesome killings all over Europe, was defeated in a spectacular duel at dawn today in the Old Town of Prague by the great wizard Albus Dumbledore. The precise details are unknown at this time, but more reports will be coming in over the next few hours, as our correspondent in Prague is gathering information from those who observed the dramatic event. Grindelwald is currently being held in custody, awaiting trial for his heinous crimes. In the meantime, the gates of the dreaded Nurmengard prison that Grindelwald built are being opened, and wizards and Muggles alike are finally able to walk out into a free world again. Prague local, Mr. G. Olem, who witnessed the duel between the two wizards told our reporter Aleta Skeeter… (Continued on p. 3, 4, 5, and 17.) _

Harry leaned back against the wall, letting the news sink in. _Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald. He found a way to save tens of thousands of innocent lives, while sparing the one life that was dearest to him as well. Grindelwald will be brought to justice, but he will live. Dumbledore did not become a murderer; there was another way. _

_Another way… _The words kept echoing in his mind. Was there, perhaps, another way to defeat Voldemort as well?

_Another way. _There was no other way. He felt his heart, his soul, and his body cry out in anguish at the realization, but he knew that there was no other way to defeat Voldemort. No way except murder. Grindelwald could be tried for his crimes, but Tom Riddle could not, since his crimes had not yet been committed. The only way to prevent the future murders of his parents, of Cedric Diggory, and the countless atrocities perpetrated by Voldemort and his death eaters, was to stop Tom from ever becoming Voldemort. To kill him before he had ever harmed anyone…

_Can I condemn him to death for crimes he has yet to commit? He will become a monster, but he is still innocent. How do I know that he will become the Voldemort I remember? Has he no choice? Surely, his free will did not cease to exist because I traveled back in time? Is he bound by my memories of a distant future? Must he become a monster, just because I remember that he will be?_

"Harry!" The soft voice of the boy who was not yet a monster sounded in his ear.

_Tom! _Harry couldn't look at him. _Why do I always think of him as "Tom" when he is near? Why can't I think of him as Voldemort? Voldemort. He murdered my parents, he tried to kill me, again and again, he tortured me, haunted my darkest dreams, spread terror and fear. _

_No. He didn't do any of those things. They haven't happened yet. The future isn't real until it happens. There is no Voldemort, just a grey-eyed boy with a face like an angel. _

"Harry, what's wrong? You are as pale as death."

Tom. Tom was so close, Harry could sense the warmth from his body. _Voldemort. Voldemort. Tom? _Suddenly, he felt Tom's arms around him, pulling him closer, Tom's warm human body against him, Tom's heart beating against his chest. It felt strangely difficult to breathe. _Warm, he feels warm…_

"Harry, tell me what's wrong. Has something happened? Did you lose someone close to you?"

"Not – not yet." Harry could hear that his voice sounded strange and far away. A sudden sob tore through his body, and before he quite understood what was happening, he was weeping in Tom's arms. A gentle hand wiped the tears from his cheeks as they fell, and a voice whispered his name, again and again, as he wept.

When his tears had run dry, they sank down on the stone floor of the deserted passageway together, the future Dark Lord and his miserable assassin.

"Harry." Tom's hand was soft on his cheek. "What has come over you?"

"I'm afraid." Harry knew the moment he said it that it was true. Not an ounce of Gryffindor courage was left in his heart, just fear, horrible fear, of the unbearable task ahead.

"Afraid of death?"

Harry nodded. _Yes, but not for myself. For another. For you._

"I'm afraid of death, too." Abruptly, Tom pulled his wand from his pocket. He twirled it thoughtfully in his hand. "My wand is made of yew. Yew, the symbol of eternal life. I have always been pleased that this is the wand that chose me. Did you know that yew trees can live for thousands of years, outlasting generations of mortal humans? I have often wondered if humans can become immortal as well. Have you ever wondered, Harry, what that would be like? To overcome death, once and for all, to live forever?"

"I don't want to live forever."

Tom looked at him, puzzled. "What? You just said you fear death. But you still _want_ to die?"

"No, it's not that I want to die, it's just…" Harry searched for the right words. Suddenly, he recalled a volume of Muggle poetry that Hermione had once left lying open in the Gryffindor common room. He had glanced at it only briefly, but one odd line had stuck in his mind. He had thought of Voldemort when he had read it, of the Dark Lord and his desperate quest for immortality. It felt odd, to think of it now, sitting next to Tom Riddle in a Hogwarts corridor, talking like old friends…

"_The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew tree are of the same duration."_

"What?" There was a look of wonder in Tom's eyes. "The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew tree - ? But that doesn't make any sense. A rose is fleeting, frail, mortal, while a yew tree is almost eternal… How can the dying flower and the eternal tree be of the same duration? That's absurd."

"Tom," Harry felt the desperate need to make Tom understand. "Even if you were to live forever… to make yourself immortal somehow… it would only be a shadow life, a half life. Eternity is something different; it is a magic that dwells in a fleeting moment."

_A moment like this. At this moment, Tom is sitting next to me, my friend, my equal, a stormy heart for my stormy heart. I need no eternity but this._

Tom looked at him for a long time. Then he said: "Harry, can I tell you a secret?"

Harry nodded. "The third secret?"

"No. Not quite yet." A slight flush made Tom's face look more human than ever. "But there is something else…" He twirled his wand nervously. Then he said in a low voice: "I've made up my mind to go and see my father."

_No!_ Whatever Harry had expected, it wasn't this. _His father! He will kill his father, and then he will make the first Horcrux. And there will be others after that. And little by little, he will lose his humanity, lose the warm human heart that still beats in his body, and he will become Voldemort…_

"Tom, no! You mustn't!" He found himself grabbing Tom hard, as if he could physically stop him from leaving Hogwarts by holding him here.

"Harry! You are hurting me." Tom's voice was gentle. "Don't worry about… what I told you earlier, that day in the library. I'm not going there to hurt him, I just need to see him. I just need to let him know what he has done to me and to my mother…"

"No!"

"It's all settled, Harry. I've made my mind up. I thought of going in the summer, but I don't think I will wait. I will go and see him during the holidays, when all of you leave for Christmas."

"I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here."

"You will?" Tom looked surprised for a moment, then he smiled. "I forget, you are the white sheep of the Black family, aren't you? Not so welcome anymore, since you were sorted into Gryffindor? I've noticed that you haven't received any letters from home all term."

"They hate me. I'm staying here for Christmas. Don't leave, Tom – stay and keep me company. Everyone else will leave. It'll probably be just you and me. I – I want you to stay here with me. _Please?_"

_Don't go. Whatever you do, don't go._

"Just you and me?" Tom looked thoughtful. He closed his eyes for a moment, pondering.

_How dark his eyelashes are against his pale skin. No, not so pale anymore, he is blushing now. I wonder why…_

Tom's face broke into a mischievous smile. "But Walburga will be heartbroken if you don't attend all the grand Christmas celebrations in the extended Black family. She can't wait to get you under the mistletoe. I've seen how she looks at you. Completely smitten. Must be those green eyes of yours, I suppose."

He laughed as he dodged the well-deserved smack Harry was aiming at his head. "All right, Harry. I will stay here with you. I suppose I can see my father another time. But I'm just staying here to protect you from Walburga, you understand? In case she sneaks back to the castle to ravish you."

They got up and walked in the direction of the Great Hall, still laughing.

But somewhere in the back of Harry's mind, a voice whispered: _We will be practically alone in the castle, Tom and I. How nervous I feel at the thought! That will be the time to end it, to end Tom's dark quest for immortality before it can even begin. That will be the time when I will murder Tom Riddle. I can't bear the thought that he will ever become the Dark Lord. I will ensure that he never will be._


	11. Chapter 11

December came all too soon. Harry wished desperately that he could slow time down, linger in these precious last days before everything would have to change. He spent every moment he could with Tom during the day, but the evenings in the Gryffindor common room were pleasant as well. He realized that he would miss Algie in particular, and he wondered if he would ever tell Neville what his uncle had been like as a boy. Of course he would see Minerva later, but how odd it would be to call her "Professor McGonagall" again!

Everyone was leaving to go home for Christmas. Harry was touched to receive invitations from both Algie and Minerva to spend the holidays with their families. Hagrid was going to stay with the old gamekeeper, Ogg. Hagrid had hinted, excitedly, that something was about to hatch soon, and that he and Ogg needed to keep a close eye on things, in case something went wrong again.

Harry gave Hagrid a gigantic pair of reflective sun glasses for Christmas, just in case his love for the basilisk persisted, and they were received with an enthusiasm almost equal to that which Algie showed when Harry gave him a large book entitled: _A Magical History of Toads, With Particular Emphasis on Their Alchemical Significance._

He presented Minerva with a recently released first edition of _Quidditch Through the Ages, _by an unknown young sports writer named Kennilworthy Whisp, and laughed when it turned out that she had bought him exactly the same thing.

"I will miss you, Minerva," he said softly as they talked in a corner of the common room on the last evening before everyone was leaving. No one else was within earshot.

She studied him intently. "So you won't be here when we get back, then, Harry?"

He shook his head. "No. I will have completed my task when you get back." He felt a painful stab in his chest at the thought.

She was quiet for a moment. Then she said: "I – I think I have guessed who you are, Harry."

"Really?" He stared at her in surprise. _I don't think she can have. But if anyone were to guess the truth, it would have to be Minerva, I suppose. _

She leaned forward and whispered: "Harry, you are _Gryffindor_, aren't you? Not just "a Gryffindor", I mean, but _Godric Gryffindor_ himself?"

Harry felt a bizarre urge to laugh. _Good God, I've been suspected of being both Gryffindor and Slytherin! _

"Er… Why do you think that, Minerva?" he asked quickly. "Just curious."

"Well, it all makes sense, doesn't it? You are not who you say you are. You are clearly an immensely powerful wizard, with abilities far beyond that of ordinary students, or even ordinary wizards. Yes, Harry, Hagrid told me about the basilisk. You _know_ he can't keep a secret, no matter how hard he tries. But you are not a dark wizard. The Sorting Hat placed you in Gryffindor for a reason. You produced a full-fledged patronus on your first try – what sixteen year old boy can do that? And not only that – your patronus is a stag, like Gryffindor's."

"Gryffindor's patronus was a stag? Really?"

Minerva sighed. "Am I the _only_ person who has ever read _Hogwarts, A History?_ Yes, Gryffindor's patronus was a stag, like yours. But how is it possible for a Gryffindor student to speak Parseltongue, a skill very few wizards besides Slytherin have ever had? No ordinary Gryffindor student would be able to speak Parseltongue. But Gryffindor himself, with his curious affinity for Slytherin, _he_ may have been able to. And then there are all the things you _don't_ know. Things that everyone knows, even a protected home-schooled Black."

Harry flushed. "Like what?"

"Oh, where do I even begin? You are a brilliant Quidditch player, one of the best I have ever seen, and yet you seem to know less about the sport than a five year old. You can't name any of the players on the national team, and I heard you refer to the Slytherins' broomsticks as "Firebolts". What the hell is a Firebolt? How can you be that good at playing, and not know the simplest thing about the names of broomsticks? You know fabulously advanced magic, but you don't recognize a single song on the wireless. It's like you are from a different age. _And you are, aren't you? _You are Gryffindor, and you have somehow found a way to travel through time, into the future."

_Well, at least she got the time travel part right. _

Harry decided to tell Minerva McGonagall the truth.

"No, I'm not Gryffindor. I have traveled here from another time, it's true, but not from the past. From the future."

"From the _future_?"

Harry pulled out the time turner he always wore on a chain around his neck.

"What's _that?" _Minerva whispered.

"A time turner. You can use it to travel back in time."

"Travel back in time?" She stared at him with wonder. "But then – then imagine how much work you could get done…"

Harry chuckled. _Minerva, you truly are Hermione's soul sister. _

"I mean…" she blushed. "Of course you would use it for more important things than that. For saving lives and things like that."

Harry nodded. "That's exactly why I'm here. I'm trying to stop…someone. Someone who will become a murderer. Someone who will become a dark wizard, more terrifying that Grindelwald."

Minerva was pale. "_Worse_ than Grindelwald?"

"Yes. I'm afraid so."

They were quiet for a moment. Then Minerva said, softly: "And you think you can stop him?"

Harry swallowed. "Yes. Yes, I think I can."

She looked at him, her brown eyes wide. "I hope you succeed. Oh, I hope you do, Harry. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Harry shook his head. "No. This is something I have to do alone."

"I understand." She sat silently for a minute, and then she burst out: "Harry, can I ask you something? Something about the future, I mean?"

"About the future?" He smiled. "I suppose so. What do you want to know? O'Hare _will_ become a famous Quidditch player, the Cleansweep Two will be mercifully forgotten, Walburga will never get over having a son who is sorted into Gryffindor, and Algie will marry Enid."

"Algie and Enid?" Minerva smiled too. Then her expression grew serious again. "But what… what about me? Can you tell me what will become of me?" Her voice trembled. "Dear Mama and Papa are always telling me that… that I must learn to become more ladylike, to spend more time trying to find a boyfriend, or I will end up an old maid instead of a wife and mother, as I should. But I'm not sure… I'm not sure I _want_ to be a wife and mother…" She looked horrified at her own words.

"Minerva McGonagall," Harry looked at her with fondness. "No, you won't become a wife and mother, to the best of my knowledge. But you will be one of the finest professors Hogwarts has ever had, loved by generations of future students. Including myself, of course."

"A Hogwarts professor!" The joy on Minerva's face made Harry smile.

He gave her a hug before heading up to the boys' dormitory for the night. "See you later, Professor! A lot later…"

_I will see you in the future, after everything's been set right. The moment is coming closer. Oh, God, if only there had been another way… I will need to get Tom alone, away from any remaining students or teachers. Tomorrow… Yes, tomorrow, after everyone else leaves. I can't put it off any longer._

The next morning, Harry's heart beat wildly as he slipped into a seat next to Tom in the almost empty Great Hall for a late breakfast. It appeared that most of the students had already left for the holidays earlier that morning. Tom looked up and smiled at him. Harry wished he wouldn't. Tom looked so - so human when he smiled, so impossibly vulnerable.

_No, he is Voldemort, remember. He will kill my parents. He will __kill Cedric. He will destroy everything I hold dear._

_No_, whispered another voice in his mind. _Not yet. He is not yet Voldemort. He is still __human, fragile, real._

"What?" Tom's voice intruded on his thoughts. "You are giving me that look again, Harry!"

"Sorry! Just lost in thoughts today..." Harry managed a grin and helped himself to eggs and bacon.

"Thinking of Walburga again?" Tom asked with mock sympathy. "She was working on some kind of youth potion before she left. She probably wants to ensure that you will always find her equally attractive."

"Oh, shut up."

The plan, Harry, the plan! He cleared his throat. "Er, Tom, all the other Gryffindors have gone home for the holidays, and I had an idea… It would be breaking a few rules, but I don't think anyone is watching us that closely over the holidays."

Tom's eyes sparkled with mischief. "What do you have in mind, Harry? I'm up for pretty much anything - "

_What are you, Tom, the fifth marauder? I could have liked you, you know, really liked __you when you are like this, a dashing co-conspirator, a fellow rule-breaker... Except __that I have been cursed with the unbearable knowledge of things to come._

"Well, you've never seen Gryffindor tower, have you?"

"Gryffindor Tower? Of course not. No Slytherin has ever been allowed to pass the portrait of your corpulent guardian." Tom was smiling. "Surely, you are not suggesting - ?"

Harry forced himself to smile back. "A bit of trespassing? Absolutely. Let's have a picnic in Gryffindor tower tonight. No one else will be there; we will have the place to ourselves. I'll smuggle food in from the kitchens - the house-elves are rather decent about these things, you know, and perhaps some wine or fire whisky or something. Come on, I know you've been dying to see the place!" Harry felt himself flush as the sentences rolled off his tongue, a little too rapidly.

He held his breath. Would Tom go for it? Or would the future legilimens sense that something was wrong? Tom's voice came from some place far away: "Yes... Yes, I would like that very much, Harry."

"Eleven o'clock tonight? I'll wait for you by the portrait of the Fat Lady."

Tom nodded. For some reason, his face was flushed as well.


	12. Chapter 12

Harry spent the rest of the day in a kind of feverish excitement, torn between dread and – and what, exactly? A strange new feeling he couldn't name, pulling at his heart. Somehow, there was an odd sweetness to the thought of being alone with Tom in Gryffindor Tower for a few moments before… before he turned into a murderer. Perhaps he would tell Tom, first, his real name. Perhaps Tom would tell him that final secret. Perhaps he would embrace Tom, briefly, just to feel his heart beat one more time.

Harry found his way down into the kitchens by tickling the pear in the painting and opening the secret passage. Judging by the astonished shrieks of the big-eyed, towel-clad house elves as they spotted him, students visiting the kitchens were a rarity in this age. Although the house elves were initially flustered with amazement, they caught on very quickly once it became clear that the young master was in need of a lovely picnic basket filled with chicken, pies, and vol-au-vents. The house elves practically tripped over themselves in their zeal to fill the basket with all manner of delicacies. Harry had wondered how he would get hold of wine or fire whisky, but he needn't have worried; dusty bottles of both fire whisky and elf-made wine appeared in the basket seemingly out of nowhere, along with a pair of crystal goblets "for the young master and his lady friend" as one house elf put it with a slight giggle.

_Yes, let them think I have a date tonight,_ thought Harry. _Let them never suspect that I have a date with death. A date to become a murderer tonight._ An image of Tom, lying horribly still in death, flashed through his mind, and he felt like he was going to be sick. He tried desperately to picture Voldemort instead, pallid and reptilian, but somehow Tom's human face wouldn't go away.

Eleven o'clock. Harry waited by the portrait, as arranged. Maybe Tom would be late, maybe he would change his mind... No there he was, right on time, smiling and handsome. Harry was unable to look him in the eye. He whispered the password to the Fat Lady, whose voice was unnaturally chirpy tonight, and walked up the stairs to the tower, with Tom right behind him.

Harry's heart beat furiously as they entered the dormitory. He had arranged the overflowing basket on a low table, along with two goblets of wine. His wand was in his pocket, ready.

"Ah, so this is how you Gryffindors live! Very nice!" Tom looked around. How odd to see Tom here, standing so casually by the bed where Harry had so often dreamed terrifying dreams of Voldemort, waking to find his scar hurting. _And where I dreamed of Gryffindor and Slytherin as well – _The thought entered his mind unbidden, and he flushed deeply.

Harry took one of the goblets with a trembling hand and turned to Tom, hoping desperately to see a glint of malice, a flash of red in Tom's grey eyes. But Tom's eyes were soft, warm, ordinary, except for a strange expression that Harry couldn't quite decipher. He accepted the wine goblet Harry offered him with a smile. Harry reached for his own goblet and took a couple of deep sips.

_This is it. His guard is down. He suspects nothing. This is the moment when I become a murderer. Oh, Tom, I think I will die from the pain of this, but this is better, after all, than knowing that you will become something less than human. _

Harry put his goblet down. _Now. _His whole body trembled as he raised his gaze to meet Tom's. How human he looked, how impossibly, beautifully human...

Then he heard Tom's voice, a hoarse whisper: "It's okay, Harry. I'm nervous, too."

Harry stared at him, uncomprehendingly. _Does he know - ?_

Tom stepped closer, and suddenly Harry felt the other boy's arms around him, soft lips against his neck, followed by almost inaudible whisper in his ear: "Don't worry, Harry! I feel the same way you do..." And then a kiss, a soft, warm, trembling kiss against his lips...

Voldemort's kiss... No, not Voldemort's, but Tom's...

"My third secret," Tom breathed against his lips. "You. I've fallen in love with you."

"No!" Harry tore himself away and staggered back against the wall. _What is happening? What is this flame that threatens to consume my will, to reduce my purpose to ashes? _

He looked at Tom, whose face had turned white. _I have my wand, and his is not in __sight. I could kill him now, if only I could get my heart to stop beating so fiercely. He has fallen in love with me-?_

Tom sank down on one of the beds, his head in his hands. "I'm sorry, Harry." His voice was cracking. "I - I must have misunderstood you..."

"Misunderstood me - ?" Harry could barely get the words out.

A flush stole over Tom's handsome features. The color made him look even less like Voldemort. He looked up at Harry, and his grey eyes were filled with - pain?

"I thought - I thought you had feelings for me, Harry. I thought... we were in love..."

_No. No, no, no, no, no._

"It's my mistake, Harry," Tom whispered, as he fingered the fringe of the bedspread he was sitting on awkwardly. Harry wished desperately he would stop doing that. It made him seem so frightfully, achingly, human.

"It was the way you looked at me," Tom's whisper was almost inaudible now. "Like you couldn't take your eyes off me. Whenever I looked up, I would see you gazing at me...with something... something I thought was longing..." He cleared his throat and went on, almost shyly: "I know now that I must have imagined it, but it felt to me like being loved... Such an odd, sweet sensation... nobody had ever looked at me like that. Like the story about that ancient king, you know: I felt that I had a second soul, a stormy heart for my stormy heart..."

"Tom-" Harry had no idea what to say. He stood there, lost, looking at the boy on the bed, and he felt as if something was breaking inside him. He was supposed to save the world. He could bring back his mother, his father, Sirius, Cedric, Dumbledore - if only he could make himself draw his wand and utter that dreaded spell.

He couldn't do it.

The lives of those he had lost, all his heartache and suffering - it all seemed so curiously light weighed against the anguish in the grey eyes before him.

_I came to kill him, but not like this. No, not like this._

Tom was getting up, moving towards the door. "I don't blame you, Harry," he said softly. "It was all me. I imagined what I wanted to see. I thought you were - my rescuer, my better self... For the first time in my life, I didn't want to be alone... I don't know what I will become if I am alone."

_I know. I know what you will become._

Tom was reaching for the door, as Harry called out: "No, wait -!"

His body seemed to act on its own accord, disconnected from his rational mind. He didn't know exactly how it happened, but suddenly he held Tom in his arms. _Tom… I __can't let you go… A world depends on me to set it right, and I am lost, hopelessly lost, __in this sudden and impossible longing... The time turner has turned not only time, but __reality, on its head._

Harry felt Tom's heart beating fiercely against his chest, and every memory of the future slipped away, became unreal. _Nothing is real, nothing except this._ And this time it was his lips that searched for Tom's mouth. _Oh, God, his mouth. Have I always wanted to kiss him like this?_ _Neither can live while the other survives... Perhaps __he will kill me one day. It doesn't matter anymore. There is no hope for me now. I __traveled back in time to fall in love with my murderer..._

Tom… There was no Voldemort, no time turner, no future or past, only Tom, moaning softly in his arms, Tom, growing hard against his body, and his own body responding in kind.

They fell in a tangled heap onto one of the soft four-poster beds, so closely entwined that their burning bodies seemed to become one, their flaming desires one, their very beings one, lost together in the borderland between body and soul, between past and future.

Their mouths locked together in frantic kisses, trembling hands exploring. His skin, oh, the scent of Tom's smooth skin… Tom's face, transformed with desire, wild, luminous, beautiful. Tom's hands frantically removing Harry's clothes, as Harry was tearing at his. Shirts, pants, all in a crumpled heap on the floor. Their bodies, naked and warm together, aching with desire.

Tom moaning against his mouth, Tom's erection hard in his hand. _Tom, Tom. I love you. _

"Tom, show me how… I have never.. Not like this. "

And Tom's rapid breath in his ear, whispering: "Yes, I'll show you... Tell me how you want it, my love. What do you want first, my mouth or my cock?" And his own hoarse whisper in return: "First your mouth..."

Tom's mouth, exploring his body, finding him hard, his playful tongue flickering, his hand stroking, until Harry surrendered completely. _Neither can live while the other survives. You got it wrong, false prophet from the future. Neither can live without the other... _Harry pulled away at the last possible instant, pulled Tom up and kissed him on the lips. He felt instincts older than magic itself awaken within, and he knew what to do now. He pulled Tom down to the floor by the bed. _You and me. It was always you and me._

Tom, behind him as he knelt by the bed, burning kisses at the nape of his neck, hands stroking him, caressing him, Tom' voice, muttering a soft spell to make the entry easier… And then Tom inside him, Tom... _Oh, God, I want him. I must have wanted him like this since time began. _Tom pushing in, gently first, then more desperately, harder, wilder, with frantic desire, moaning his name, until Tom came inside him, and Harry heard another voice that must be his own calling Tom's name as he came fiercely, still clutched in Tom's wild embrace.

_Somewhere in the future, a glass globe containing a prophecy about the two of us is shattering, turning to dust. _


	13. Chapter 13

Five days. It was only after five days with Tom in Gryffindor Tower that Harry was able to come to his senses enough to realize that he had to leave. The other Gryffindor students would be coming back soon, and he had to go back to his own time.

_Oh, Tom, how can I leave you? You are a part of me, like no one has ever been. Every __prophecy and word of warning spoken about you and me was true, and yet utterly __false: I have vanquished the Dark Lord - but the boy he was still lives, even if I came to __kill him: Tom, the Boy Who Lived. The Dark Lord will mark me as his equal - we are __equal in darkness now, equal in light, equal in guilt, equal in love. And now I bear marks upon my __body, put there by you; not a scar this time, but bruises, left by a lover's fevered lips. A strange __connection between my mind and yours - how can it be otherwise, Tom, my second __soul, stormy heart for my stormy heart? I let you into my mind, and into my body as __well. You possessed me, and I possessed you. _

_I have failed, failed miserably, at my task. I was the redeemer, sent to slay the monster, __and I redeemed no one but the monster. Was this a failure, or a victory? I must go back __and see what chaos I have wreaked on the future I betrayed. But how can I leave you? __Leaving you, Tom, is like tearing my heart out of my body, like fragmenting my soul..._

_What would happen if I stay here, if I remain in this time with Tom? Then the future will happen without me. Lily and James Potter will fall in love and have a son, and perhaps they will name him Harry. But it wouldn't be me, but a different Harry, unscarred and whole, leading a different life. He would go to Hogwarts, but would he choose Ron and Hermione as his friends, or was it my enmity with Voldemort that brought us together? _

_Ron and Hermione. __Sirius_. _I can't live my life here, never knowing what becomes of them. I have to go back. But if I do, will I ever see Tom again? And if I see him, who will he be?_

He woke Tom, who was sleeping peacefully beside him, dark curls all mussed, his body impossibly tangled in the sheets after their frantic love from the night before, with an urgent kiss. "Tom," he whispered, "I need to talk to you."

Tom whispered his name sleepily and reached for him under the sheets. "Talk later... First come here..."

_That too, in a moment, Tom, my impatient love._

_"_Tom, I want to tell you my name. My real name, I mean."

Tom was awake now, and he leaned up on his elbow, a smile in his grey eyes. "About time, stranger. After all this, it's time we were properly introduced."

A light finger traced the outline of Harry's face. "So, who are you, mysterious stranger who has ravished me?"

"Ravished _you_? You did most of the ravishing!"

Tom looked thoughtful. "I did, didn't I? That won't do, Harry... or whoever you are. We are equals. I really must insist that you ravish me as soon as possible."

_I will in a minute, my love._

_"_So, who are you? Slytherin, Gryffindor, Paracelsus - ?"

"No, just Harry. Harry Potter."

"Harry Potter..." Tom repeated the name slowly. "I like the sound of it. It's... almost familiar, somehow. So, Harry Potter, who are you and why did you come to Hogwarts, pretending to be Harry Black? You didn't come just to woo Walburga, did you?"

Harry flung his arms around Tom and laughed. "I came to ravish you, of course." And for the next delicious hour, he proceeded to do just that.

Afterwards, as Tom lay warm and flushed in his arms, he whispered: "Promise me - Promise me you will remember me, Tom! _Remember me_, no matter what happens. Remember that I love you." And he kissed Tom as if he wanted his lips to bear the memory of his kisses always.

_The Gryffindor who speaks Parseltongue. The Slytherin who can conjure a patronus. Our minds and our lives so curiously intertwined that neither can survive without the other..._

The food in the picnic basked had finally run out, the wine had been drunk, and the fire-whisky had been put to purposes the house-elves had surely never intended. Tom walked down to the Great Hall to find some more food for them both. Harry had told him the password to get back in to Gryffindor Tower, and Tom had laughed when he learned that it was _Basilisk. _"I always knew that there was more to you Gryffindors than you let on," he had said, shaking his head.

Alone now, Harry knew that the moment had come. He was terribly tempted to wait, just a little bit longer. _Just a few more hours with Tom... No, it has to happen now, while he is gone, or I won't be able to tear myself away._

He scribbled a hasty note. No excuses for his hasty departure, just a promise that they would meet again in the future, a plea for Tom not to look for his father, and an oath of everlasting love. What else could he possibly say? Harry put the time turner around his neck, and with a last look at the crumpled, sticky bed they had shared, he began to turn the golden dial. _I am leaving you now, Tom, __leaving the boy you were. I will see the man you become, years into the future. Perhaps __you will still become a monster. Or perhaps you will remember..._

He landed with a thud in Dumbledore's office, the world still awhirl around him. _Dumbledore's office? I guess I'm back to where my journey started._

"Ah, Harry."

Dumbledore looked at him with amusement, his blue eyes twinkling behind the half-moon glasses.

_Dumbledore?_

"You are late for class, Harry."

Harry stood still for a moment, gradually adjusting to the reality of Dumbledore's office, this time with Dumbledore in it. His heart recognized that Dumbledore was here, alive in this time as well, and was ready to explode with joy, but his mind and his reason were still struggling, badly.

"Class-?"

Dumbledore nodded, a smile hovering behind his beard. "Yes, Harry, class. Your parents will be less than enchanted to receive yet another owl this month about your attendance."

His parents - ? But then -? _Tom? Not Voldemort?_

"Class..." His mind was reeling. "Er, which class is that, again, professor?"

"Defense against the Dark Arts. In the Dungeon."

Aha! At least one thing was still the same. Harry felt absurdly cheerful at the prospect of being sneered at by Snape. Something would still be familiar. He would have to figure the rest out later. But some things he had to know -

"Er... Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Do you remember which year it was, the year when you defeated Grindelwald?"

Dumbledore smiled at him. "Yes, of course, Harry. It was 1942... What a long time ago that was! I have visited him in prison sometimes, through the years, you know, Grindelwald... Why do you ask?"

Harry shook his head. "Oh, no reason. And Voldemort-?"

"Who?" Dumbledore looked genuinely confused.

Harry's heart sang in his chest as he headed to the gloom of the dungeon. Dumbledore was in his office! His parents were alive!

He pushed the dungeon door open and entered as quietly as he could. No luck. "Potter!"

"I'm sorry, Sir!" he mumbled automatically.

He found his desk, next to Ron, who grinned at him. _Ah, Ron, no distortion of time __and space could ever change your red hair, a freckle on your face, or your friendship!_ He frowned as he saw the girl sitting on the other side of Ron. Who was that? In no possible universe could Hermione have turned into this breathtaking beauty, with the mischievous black eyes and the dark curls, a younger and even lovelier version of Madam Rosmerta. Harry leaned over a little and caught sight of the name written on the front of her notebook: Rose Black. _Sirius' daughter?_

But where was Hermione, then? Harry looked around desperately, until he spotted a head of bushy brown hair bent over a book, and a boy's blond head bent towards hers in a gesture of almost obscene tenderness. _Hermione and Draco?_

"Potter!" Ah, well. Time for the reckoning, at last.

Footsteps, coming closer, pausing by his desk. "This is the fourth time you are late this week, Potter. You know that means detention, don't you?"

Harry nodded. But wait - _that was not Snape's voice!_ He looked up, bewildered. The professor stopped in front of his desk, bent towards him, with a twinkle in his grey eyes. His face was a little more lined, but still as handsome as ever. _A draught of Walburga's youth potion?_

"My office, eight o'clock, Potter," he said softly. "Again."

"Yes, Professor Riddle."

As Harry sank back into his seat, his head spinning, Ron patted him on the back. "Bad luck, mate," he whispered. "Although - you've been late an _awful _lot lately. Anyone would think you were _trying _to get detention..." He chuckled at his own joke for a bit before he bent back over his book.


End file.
